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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23417506">A Good Man</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscipleOfBrad/pseuds/DiscipleOfBrad'>DiscipleOfBrad</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fear, Gifts, Goodbyes, Memories, Regeneration, remembering</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 09:02:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>864</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23417506</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscipleOfBrad/pseuds/DiscipleOfBrad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor does not want to regenerate yet again. Only one person would ever be able to change his tired mind.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Good Man</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I just listened to 12's theme that they used in his final episode (still want it released, Mr. Gold!), how it answers the question that has followed him throughout his run. So I wrote this. A little one-shot of how his final conversation should have gone with his closest friend and love.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   The snow was falling. Proper snow. How many Christmases had it been where the snow hadn’t actually been...snow? He probably would have enjoyed it if it wasn’t for the pain coursing through his body. The pain of holding back the regeneration process. He had seen the Master do it easily all those years ago. Why was it so difficult for him then? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Because you don’t want to let go. Not truly. Not yet.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He sadly looked over the battlefield, Bill Potts silently standing by his side as she led him closer to the Tardis. He was going to miss the old girl but he knew she understood, regardless of her disappointment. She would soon become a monument that everyone would walk past without noticing it, a shrine to what he had stood for throughout his life. What had he stood for? So many things, not all of them good. But a life could never always be considered good, especially one that had lasted as long as his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You know what the hardest thing about knowing you was?” Bill softly asked, linking her arm with his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “My superior intelligence. My dazzling charisma. Oh, my impeccable dress sense.” The Doctor tried joking about it all, like he had done so many times, hoping that it would convince his companion. It was always doomed to fail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Letting you go.” Her hands reluctantly removed themselves from his body, symbolising her ability to finally accomplish that feat. “Letting go of the Doctor is so...so hard. Isn’t it?” He smirked as he turned away, taking a few steps away from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You see, that’s...that’s not the sort of thing the real Bill would say.” He just couldn’t accept it. Not after he had let down yet another friend so terribly. That’s why it had to end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I am the real Bill!” she exclaimed exasperatedly, throwing her arms up into the air. “And life is just memories. I’m all her memories. So I’m her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “If you say so,” he responded dismissively. Frankly, this...thing was holding him up from dying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Okay. I’m going to prove to you how important memories are. I’ve got a little goodbye present for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Oh, that’s nice. Will I have to pretend to like it because...honestly…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Oh, come here you,” she interrupted, grabbing his arm and placing a lingering kiss on his cold cheek. He was confused for a second, just a second. And then he saw her. The face he had tried to remember for so long. He was almost overwhelmed by all the memories. That laughing fool with the arrows. A mummy on the Orient Express. Santa Claus bringing them back together. Almost losing her so many times. Losing her. The heartbreak. The tears. The Cloisters. The acceptance. It all came back to him and he swore he had never smiled so broadly as when her deep brown eyes locked with his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Merry Christmas,” Bill whispered, walking away from him. He focused on his Impossible Girl who tentatively walked towards him, wearing that smirk she always seemed to have on. That smirk he now remembered. How could he have forgotten that gorgeous smile? Maybe he truly hadn’t. No wonder he had become a lecturer, subconsciously wanting to stay connected with the teacher he had lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Clara,” he murmured with a grin. She placed a hand on his cheek, soothing his tired soul. Everything would be okay now she was here with him. At the end of it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Hello. You daft, old man,” she greeted playfully. It was good to see that she hadn’t lost her inherent cheekiness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “My memories. They’re all back. I can remember you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Good. And don’t go forgetting me again because, frankly, that was incredibly rude.” He laughed at her before the pain took a hold again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” he admitted, unable to meet her eyes. She forced him to do so; he could never resist those eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You don’t have to. You can rest. You deserve that, after all the hardship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You really think so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I know so. But I also know that you won’t do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “How can you be so sure?” She’d always been able to see straight through him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You asked me a long time ago whether I thought you were a good man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You didn't know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Yes.” He rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Your pep talks need some work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “No, listen to me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she emphasized the word this time, staring into his eyes meaningfully. “You are a good man. You are a great man. And you will find that strength one last time because I think the universe may just grow cold without you in it. And it’s definitely not ready for that just yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Clara,” he whispered. “Maybe I’ve lost that strength.” He didn't want to appear weak in front of her but it was just too much effort to keep up the pretense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Don’t you worry about that, my Doctor. Because you don’t have to do this alone. You have never had to do this alone. I’ll be by your side, guiding you, until the very end.” Maybe...one more lifetime wouldn’t hurt anybody...</span>
</p>
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